Fun With the News: April 30th, 2006
I found some fun items in my newspaper today...
First, according to my newspaper, homosexuals are switching teams...
Or...am I using the wrong definition of "Bush"?
My second humorous find only makes sense if you know my name is Clark...and since you now know, it will make sense...
You know, I may be an asshole, but I'm no lawyer. Or, if I have a split personality, what the hell has it done with that money, because you know he makes mad cash! I guess he's not an ambulance chaser, but a mass grave chaser...
Last but not least, a story from
The State worthy of Jerry Springer...
Mother charged in scheme to get painkillers A Clover woman has been charged with beating her 16-year-old son and forcing him to cut her with a steak knife in an effort to get prescription painkillers.
Police said Linda Bailes, 37, threatened to kick her son and his girlfriend out of their mobile home unless he helped her get pain pills. Bailes was arrested Wednesday after the boy told police his mother forced him to let her hit him in the back with a baseball bat so he could get pain medicine.
But the boy said the pain pills doctors gave him weren’t strong enough for her, so she told him to cut her and call 911 to say someone had broken in the house. When police questioned the boy, he told them about the scheme. Bailes was charged with aggravated assault, giving false information to police and petty larceny.
Contributing: The Associated PressYou know, if the scheme involves calling the police, you do NOT include the guy whom you hit in the back with a baseball bat. That's a cardinal rule of schemes. Right after "Don't fall in live with the sexy female cop/sexy daughter of the chief detective" and right before "If you don't want anyone to get killed, don't give a weapon to the guy with anger management issues who's always getting into fights and talking about killing cop" you'll find "Don't let the guy who you hit with a bat call the police to give them a report of a supposed crime." C'mon people...a little common sense please.
Straight from the Zebra's Mouth #3
This morning after waking up and going for her morning potty break, Zebra-Girl said the following to PTMamma:"The first poo came out, but the nuther poo wouldn't come out. The poo wouldn't get out of its poo bed."
I guess from now on, I'm going to call constipation Hitting the Pooze Button...
Wednesday's Dance
So, on the way home yesterday, I was listening to The Beatles...Abbey Road...in my ongoing browse through my CD collection to scout out CDs safe for burning, CDs in need of repair, and CDs in need of the scrap heap.
When I got home, I had to dance with my children. The song: Octopus's Garden...the dances, Zebra-Girl, Sierra-Girl, and a Beanie Octopus...Zebra-Girl provided us with some steps at one point. Crossing our legs and stepping back and forth. She's the best dancer in the house...and she's 3 years old.
Then I had a song for PTMamma (Pleasing Tune Mamma)...I Want You. If only I could sing...
Tagged for TMI...
Well, I only have
my wife to bla...I mean, thank...thank for this. She's tagged me. The topic...as my wife puts it, "Six things more than people really wanted to know about you", but as I put it, "Six Things About You That Qualify as Too Much Information"...
so...Six things, TMI...
1) I currently have a very persistent rash in my right armpit. I've had it for several months. I think I may have found the accurate forms of chemical warfare, and the rash seems to be on the outs...but I have a feeling that my armpit is like Iraq and the insurgents will be here for a while...In general, I am very yeasty, rashy type of person. I should rent my body to science.
2) I've spent a while trying to figure out how to phrase it without it sounding insulting or overly PC...and I just figured it out, because meaty I felt could be taken the wrong way, and pleasantly plump, ugh...I like voluptuous women...fully voluptuous...I'm not just talking mammaries, though admittedly, that's an important area. I like women who I can see when they are standing sideways. I like them tall. The Hollywood women I find most attractive are Queen Latifah, tall and fully formed she is (don't know why I turned Yoda-ish there, but oh well) and Janeane Garofalo, who's not so tall, but still a fine looking woman who, if she reads this BLOG, any entry, she will be totally offended because I just talked about her like she's a piece of meat and because I'm a flaming conservative. Seeing a woman's ribcage is a turnoff.
3) I have no compunction about being naked. Nudist colony, nude beach...whatever, I could do it. I have a horribly rotund beer belly, scrawny pale legs, a dent in my chest (it has some clinical name that I don't know), zits on my back usually...and I'd just walk around buck-ass-naked for the world to see without a problem. Well, save for John Q. Law...that's why I make sure I have my underwear on when I check the mail.
4) My ears are uberwaxy...I stick qtips into my ears, which my wife says will make be deaf, at least every other day and they come out brown, brown, brown...waxy. My cochlea is well protected, however.
5) I have hairy, prehensile toes. I don't mean in a box or something, I mean on my feet. They are hairy...not quite Hobbit hairy, but still fairly covered if walking around barefoot in the winter, and I can pick things up with them. It's cool. If I drop a pencil and I barefooted, I can just use my prehensile toes to pick it up. Even better is that it adds to the gross out factor when harassing PTMamma (Plenty Tolerant Mamma) with my feet. See, I could do what Delta-Boy does, which is just place my stinky feet upon her. (Did I mention my feet stink? Well, what do you expect when they're this hairy. They get sweaty.) But I, I can place my feet upon her and have them crawl up her leg or across her back. She'll tell the judge that when she divorces my gross, beastly, asshole self.
6) Speaking of PTMamma...in honor of her, I share what I think is normal, but she swears in more abnormal than my prehensile toes...I eat Grilled Cheese Sandwiches with mayonaisse. I like mayonaisse a lot, and she eats it sans mayo. I also eat Snot, which is not what it sounds like...it cottage cheese with salt, pepper, and, you guessed it, mayo. PTMamma dubbed it Snot, and so it will be called.
So, I am a gross freak of human nature...or G'FoHN, pronounced Guh-Fone.
I'd like to thank my wife for having me bare my grotesqueness for the internet to enjoy...Here's hoping I'll be called to be a part of Fear Factor...not as a contestant, as a challenge.
Frozen Food Instructions...
...are insane! If you've eaten a lot of, and a wide variety of, frozen food, you already know what I'm talking about...the instructions that say things like, "Microwave for 10-25 minutes"...um, that's a pretty huge time gap there.
Well, this weekend, I tried something new and the instructions are absolutely insane. I am going to quote the instructions word for word. These instructions are not edited in any way...
1. Unwrap frozen product. Do not use microwave crisping sleeve.2. Place frozen product on baking sheet.3. Completely cover baking sheet with aluminum foil, crimp edges to seal.4. Preheat over to 425 F and bake product for 32 minutes. Using a pot holder, remove product from oven. Product is ready to enjoy!Ok, let's see what's odd here...
1) "Product"? Not "entree"? Not "sandwich"? Um, what a tasty product. I'd like another product, please. I need to pick up some more frozen products at the store....
2) "Using a pot holder"...The baking pan has been sitting in a 425 degree temperature environment for 32 minutes (why not 30?)...If you don't realize the pan will be hot to the touch, well, you probably shouldn't be eating anything, you should be on IV fluids. That I know where it came from...our wonderful, litiginous society suing over everything because our mommy always made sure we couldn't reach the hot pans, and our mommy made sure the food was cool enough before we ate it, but now mommy says we need to take care of ourselves...so now the stores, companies, and restaurants get to be our mommies...Your way right away? Fuck that! You know we put pickles on our burgers and you don't like pickles....pick your pickles off your damn self...or eat somewhere else. Ow, I drove while drinking hot coffee and burned myself, WAAAA!!!, Appease me and give me money! Uh, no, I don't think so, because if the coffee was luke warm, you'd bring it back a demand a new one...your actions, your responsibility...
3) Speaking of warnings about being burned...oddly enough, while the instructions remind us to use a pot holder (Thanks, ma!), the instructions do NOT remind us, like most frozen foods, to let the food cool for 1-2 minutes. This product has hot runny cheese, after being cooked, that could burn us...I wouldn't complain except, after I was told to make sure I use my pot holder, young man, I was expecting the instruction to tell me how to blow off my food to cool it, and cut it into smaller, more manageable pieces.
Seriously, anyone else sick and tired of our society treating everyone like children? Stop suing because then we look like whinny, "high needs" children...
Straight From the Zebra's Mouth #2
Zebra-Girl's Review of Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit:The following transcript is from a review from 3-year-old Zebra-Girl, who uses a lot of body language. Where Zebra-Girl uses body language, I have provided the action in brackets...enjoy."He had big ears, and big feet, and he went hop, hop, hop, and he picked up a big stick and he threw it and he threw it at the bad guy and he went 'oof' and Gromit was trapped in the van and he'd go [wink] and it went [wink] and he'd go [swish hips] and it went [swish hips]. Yeah, it was good."
Straight From the Zebra's Mouth #1
Starting today, I'm introducing a new segment, which more precisely means what I predict will be the first regular segment to PTA..."Straight From the Zebra's Mouth"...A couple of points of clarification before we begin...
I was trying to think of a way to regularly refer to my children in the BLOG. So I decided to use the Military Alphabet Code based on the first letter of my children's names...So, my children henceforth will be referred to as:
Delta-Boy - The eldest at 4 years old
Zebra-Girl - The eldest girl at 3 years old
Sierra-Girl - The youngest girl at 2 years
Bravo-Boy - The youngest at 9 months
So, this new feature, "Straight From the Zebra's Mouth" is about what Zebra-Girl says, because she has a very...unique...way of expressing herself.
Set-Up: See, I don't like to leave my appearance the same for very long. Mostly, I just decide to shave my facial hair differently from time to time...A couple of weeks ago, I only had a moustache, but now I have a goatee to go with it...I'll go with anything from a clean shave to beard and moustache just to change things up. Well, this interest in changing my appearance has crept into my head hair...I've been keeping my hair shaved pretty close, but not bald, and one day I decided randomly to let my hair grow...for as long...as I can tolerate it...
Well, I'm not sure how long ago this was...I'm sure PTMamma (Pretty Terrific Mamma) could give you a reasonable estimate...Anyway, my hair's getting fairly long. I'm starting to cave on my hair-growing experiment...I feel it on the back of myneck and I can't help but mess with it and it's annoying me...But then I noticed yesterday...it's only the end of the day when my hair starts to annoy me, so if at the end of the day, when my hair starts to annoy me, if I get the hair off of my neck with a rubberband...maybe the experiment could continue.
So I asked my wife for a rubberband, she found me a hair band (or whatever you'd call it...but NOT a scrunchie), and I put what little hair there is in it and off of my neck...but apparently I did it wrong. PTMamma asked if she could redo it, so I said sure. She was putting the rubberband back in my hair and Zebra-Girl walked up and...
Straight From the Zebra's Mouth: "Dada's a mamma, now!"
Maybe the experiment IS over...
*Huff**Huff**Puff*
Whoo...well, so I've hopefully started a new tradition...I say hopefully simply because it's presumptuous to say that since I did it once, it will be a tradition from now on...
See, PTMamma's (Parent: Terrific Mamma) father bought us a CD Burner, so I've started listening to my CDs completely, one by one, to see what is Burn Worthy and what is Replacement Necessary and what is What-Was-I-Thinking Stigmatized...or WWIT-Matized...
So, I'm a touch anal and I have all of my CDs in alphabetical order based on artist in my CD case...it used to be alphabatized by album title to insure randomization for times like this, but PTMamma couldn't find anything in my case, so I changed it...for her...I know...Aaawwww...
Anyway, I'm up to my Beach Boy CDs. I was listening to the first disc in the Beach Boys Boxed Set,
Good Vibrations, and track 29 came on..."Do You Wanna Dance"...I said to myself, "Man, Asshole, if you were at home with the babies, you'd so be dancing with them..."
Well, I've thought that before with the random song that's peppy and Boogie-Worthy, so I decided...Why the hell not...So I got home, and the Micro-Holes were eating. I told PTMamma that I needed a couple of minutes with the children when they got done eating.
After they got done eating, we were all in the kitchen, where the CD player is located, I put in the CD...and we danced...
It was fun!
It was special!
It was...exhausting...
Whoo buy, was I winded...But I want to do that from now on...Anytime I hear something that sounds dance worthy, I take it in and dance with my babies...
A Bit of Advice
Ok, ladies and gentlemen, let's talk about a basic premise in life...Something that has held true since our evolutionary ancestor,
little Lucy, walked around on her little hairy knuckles.
If you're not happy...YOU need to change something.
I have a few coworkers who are unhappy under our new boss. Personality conflicts, misunderstandings, miscommunications...They haven't been happy. They are still not happy.
They're coming back next year...
Why?
YOU ARE NOT HAPPY!
See, we have a new guy in charge this year. Any new regime takes some adjustment, but you act like a professional and give and take till things settle down, right? Well, we have a certain faction who, from the moment our new boss set foot on the property, has whined and moaned and pushed, pecking away at him mercilessly. They make themselves out to be victems and frankly, it looks a lot like they're trying to take advantage. Sorry but that's my take on it.
I mean...Do they think HE will change? Change his methods, change his personality? What exactly is it that they disagree with? Has he denied any leave time, despite pleading with the staff to onky take time off when absolutely necessary? Does he abuse, degrade, or insult the student body? Does he abuse, degrade, or insult the faculty and staff? Harass anyone?
Every question gets a, "No." "Absolutely not." "Not anywhere close."
If you are not happy,
you have to change some too. Change your environment, change your relationships, change your...self? Stop complaining and take control of
your life.
Last Day of Spring Break
Well, today's the last day of my Spring Break. I meant to BLOG more, but alas the chance to be grossly lazy was too overwhelming.
So this week, my Spring Break, I was Deputy Dad...and I've been on PooPatrol! The usual suspects? Three-Poo Pete and his older sister Stinky Pinky. I have 4 children...two potty trained, and two untrained. This week has been Poopalapalooza! Sitting watching a movie...wasting time on the internet...eating...and then, creeping from realms unknown...lurking just beyond comes...THE STINK! AAAAIIII!!!!
But worse...I see Stinky Pinky toddle by, or Three-Poo Pete army crawl by and I think, "Oh look...it appears that it's been raining in Nappy Valley...Time for a change in climate." So I take soggy baby to change the atmosphere and...AAAAIIII!!! The Lurking Poo! Hidden, unsensed...but waiting. ALL WEEK LONG!
This can't be normal! These babies poo more than their body weight in a day! I got the kitchen scales to check! So...I have a theory...See, the same thing happens on the weekend...Everytime I change a nappy, there's poo. There's only one explanation...because it's NOT normal. You know how I know? Their mother, my wife, doesn't spend all day talking about the tons of poo she's had to dispose of. No, they save their poo. All week long...they stockpile it. They release one load to keep Momma from taking them to visit the doctor...but otherwise, it's like a dragon hording gold.
Then...Dada's home...
"Stinky Pinky to Three-Poo Pete...Remove Control Rods, Let Over-Poo Production Commence."
WOO-OO WOO-OO
"Yes, honey, I'll change that nappy. You take it easy. Oh, look, a poo."
"Don't worry, I've got it. Huh, another poo."
"No no, it should be safe, I'll change this one...goddamn..."
"GOOD GRIEF! AGAIN!?!"
So I've been like an amusement park...Six Poos Over Dada...
Thank goodness I go back to work tomorrow...No more poos...just...stupidity.
I know, I know...for the most part (though not all parts) my students have an excuse...but explain my coworkers. People who were asked by The Boss, our Principal, to see him if they have a problem with something he's done BEFORE going to the District Office...not "instead of" or "rather than" or "If you go to the District Office, I will gut you like a fish"...No, he said "before"...asking for the opportunity to give him a chance to clarify or rectify the situation...Then, if you're not satisfied...go see people in the District Office.
What did one of these people do?
Went...to the district office...complaining...that we were told NOT to go to the District Office.
STUPID!
Anyway, in order to remind me of the utter stupidity The Parade, the insert magazine to my Sunday newspaper, provided a warm up in stupidity. The inside cover of The Parade has "Personality Parade" where readers write in questions about celebrities...This Sunday they had
a question from some person asking if the late Roy Orbison wore a swastika and if he was anti-Semite. I read the question with interest until...I saw a picture...of Roy...with the "swastika" around his neck.
It's not anything CLOSE to a swastika.
What this person was thinking of is the Iron Cross used as a symbol of German forces.
SwastikaIron CrossThe difference is astounding. I fear for a country where someone could mistake an Iron Cross for a swastika. Can we NOT at least teach what a swastika looks like?
Maybe, just maybe, our educational standards are in need of improvement...
